


What Others See and Petyr Refuses

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: </p><p>Baelish watches from the sidelines as Jon and Sansa fall in love with the other and decides to simply give up. Another heartache to the inevitable it's not worth it.</p><p>So like almost everyone who is not PetyrxSansa I utterly despise Littlefinger. Could you do a prompt with him suffering at Jon and Sansa's relationship with the "It almost feels like a joke" line?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Others See and Petyr Refuses

 

It almost feels like a joke, the first time someone mentions the similarities to Petyr. Of course, he noticed the way Sansa has her mother’s defiant chin long before Jorah Mormont whispers it to him after the war council. This does not help the fury that boils within him when Mormont notes, “They’re the spiting image of Eddard and Catelyn, wouldn’t you say?”

Petyr holds his tongue and smiles politely. “It’s close, yes.”

He hopes to leave it at that- he sees how Mormont lusts after Daenerys Stormborn. All the rumors among the court of Winterfell suggest that Daenerys will marry her nephew and make him King to solidify the uneasy peace once the war against the Others is complete. Of course Mormont will see parallels wherever he can, to try to stop that destined union from occurring.

He treks after Sansa when she visits the godswood that night, watches as she sits and stares at the frozen over pool. The crystalline waters are a lighter blue than her vivid eyes, and she stands out like a vision among all the white of the snow around her.

Again, his lovely protege refuses his kiss when he approaches her, but he sees less hesitation in her eyes when the speak. Of course, her anger at him for her marriage is founded, but her husband is moons dead. It is past time for Sansa to embrace him like he knows she wishes. Propriety in mourning has gone away, and she is less proper than a widow should be, laughing and dancing with her court to keep their spirits high.

The dragon riders leave two daytimes later, with the beat of their mounts’ wings and sharp steel sheathed at all their sides. The fires of the beasts will be missed, but there is a plan to save the world and with luck, the heroes will burn in ashes and live on as no more than songs.

When Lady Lyanna Mormont makes note of the vision Sansa and Jon made, standing in the courtyard as they say their farewells, he truly begins to worry. All his well-set plans, his schemes and suggestions will go to waste if someone makes this suggestions before the queen.

“Wasn’t Lady Catelyn red of hair and blue of eye?” She says, besides him as they break their fast. “And Lord Eddard dark of hair and grey of eye?”

“Yes, my lady.” His voice is smooth as new-blown glass, trying to assuage whatever though creeps to her mind.

The girl bites her lip and tilts her head. “Hm.”

Petyr Baelish says nothing, worrying for what the astute young lady may say. His heart plummets into his bowels at her next comment.

“An alliance must be made between North and South at this war’s end.” She nods to her Lady, who greets servants and nobles alike as she sweeps into the great hall. “Perhaps Lady Stark is our proper bargaining chip.”

Sansa’s face is drawn in worry and dark bags hang beneath her eyes despite the smile on her visage. He is sure she worries more over supplies or feeding and protecting the denizens of Winterfell than the fate of any individual savior.

Daenerys and Tyrion fly in with the rise of the sun weeks later, and what little celebrations  there are to be had commence once Jon arrives the next morning. Wounds pepper the back of both the prince and his mount, but there are many lives saved with the return of the dawn.

Joy courses through everyone’s veins, swifter and thicker than the alcohol they drink. Petyr does not see Sansa for days, as she tends to her cousin’s wounds herself and never leaves his side. She helps him to the dais when he begins to heal, ever at his side.

Their heads incline towards one another, and they speak in hushed voices no one else can hear. Sansa smiles, real and true, for the first time in many moons. When her laugh pierces the great hall, Petyr clenches his fists and resolves to say something to the queen. He has played the game for too long to lose this much of it now. There may be no way to claim the throne, but he will have her.

His audience with Daenerys takes longer to arrange than he would like. She avoids him at every turn, and even while he paces outside her chambers, Daenerys is late to the meeting time that they had agreed upon.

“My queen, you are more radiant and bright to my eyes than even the rising sun.” He says, bowing with a flourish. Daenerys is a hard woman to win over. She likes to feel like one of her people, to be a part of the society she has conquered. Their interactions have been few, and he can only hope his flattery will get him where he needs to go.

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.” Her words are clipped and slow to come. He holds her gaze with an equally intense one of his own. “What is it that you would ask of me?”

“I seek the hand of Sansa Stark, at your blessing.” He explains, hoping she grasps onto the political benefits to her at his proposal. “The North and South must be bound in some way, it is known. As Lord of Harrenhal, the Trident, and Lord Protector of the Vale, I believe I am an ideal candidate to help you with uniting the two regions.”

“You are well endowed as a Southron lord, it is true. This is an honorable suggestion.” Daenerys raises a slim eyebrow, and sips from her glass of wine.   

“It would be an honor to serve in this way, yes, but I will admit the feelings the Lady Stark and I share do play a part.” And now, he plays to her fondness of happy stories, like the love he feels for his lovely beauty.

“Is that so?” She sips her wine again, infuriating him. It is not too hard to say yes, to give him what he craves, as he knows she will. “For, you see, my nephew and Lady Sansa came to me just this morning to ask for my blessing of their own union.”

Petyr starts, “But-”

“I will hear no more of this, Lord Baelish. Begone from my sight, for it is a crime to lie to a queen and I would judge your harsher were I not so joyous as to my heir’s wedding.” Daenerys storms, her voice firm. She brushes her hand through the air and towards the door. Darkly, she states, “Now.”

He finds Sansa in the godswood after that, snowflakes a crown in her and her husband-to-be’s hair. Jon holds her face delicately in his hands, and her eyes glitter like the stars as they look upon him. Their kiss is slow and gentle, with no harshness or desperation in either of their motions as they hold the other. 

Petyr turns to leave the taunting sight, letting go the emotions within him. They will boil and stir and Petyr Baelish will suffer, but plans may be made to save this yet, or so he thinks. For old Lords of Harrenhal are cursed, it is known, and as he prepares to kill the Queen and kill Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, his own death finds him on the road to the castle he used to raise himself up in his own treachery, and finally someone besides Littlefinger has the last laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about Jonsa and other ASOIAF/GOT goodness with me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


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